


Transparency

by mirrorverses



Category: teen wolf - Fandom
Genre: Derek has a guilt complex the size of Alaska, If demons are eating Derek is it still cannibalism?, M/M, Overly gratuitous internal monologues, Overly gratuitous metaphors, Plot? What Plot?, relating to each character's emotional constipation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-22
Updated: 2012-11-22
Packaged: 2017-11-19 07:18:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/570652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mirrorverses/pseuds/mirrorverses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is transparent. Derek tries to hide.<br/>Angsty musing about angsty characters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Transparency

**Author's Note:**

> For some reason my brain has been like 'screw you, no plot'. So I've been writing angsty internal monologues. And character studies. I don't think this is the best thing I've ever written, but my OTP wouldn't leave me alone. Constructive criticism would be greatly appreciated. Unbeta'd.

Stiles is transparent. It's in the way he rambles and lets his sarcasm take an edge when he's under pressure. How he moves, infusing everything he does with every damn thought and emotion that could cross his mind. He's like a shaken up soda bottle.  
Reactive.  
Sometimes, it wells up inside, drowns him and leaves him for dead, a corpse swept with the tide of every looming insecurity and anxiety. Stiles tries to hide the stress under layers of sarcasm and the hyper-vigilance woven into the constant stream of unrelated, safe, topics arising from too much time spent in his Jeep being glared at by a certain brooding werewolf. He doesn't want to be vulnerable, nor does he expect those around him to see past the brittle façade he's worn since his mother. But even after all that effort, it's still obvious. To Derek anyway.

Derek contains his emotions in his body. The tension in his hands, his neck and his jaw. Sometimes there's so much of it, oozing from his pores into his surroundings, that it becomes a palpable substance, holding everyone at arm's length (except Stiles). He holds the fear in the way he flares his nostrils and allows his canines to lengthen. On the surface, it is sheer aggression, but Stiles knows better. In an effort to hide, Derek lets it burrow beyond those places, seeping through his skin and finally taking up residence in his marrow. He holds his responsibility, his guilt and his rage in his legs. It's almost like fuel, burning white-hot to keep him moving forward. Because if he ever stops long enough to let his lungs catch up or his blood settle, the demons following him will finally feast. They'd gorge on his legs first, the sinew and muscle marinated to perfection. Then they'd move to his marrow, sucking it out bone by bone, and leaving the shell behind to pile on their thrones. Finally his face, specifically the poker face he wears, one delicious cheekbone at a time. It's where exasperation, amusement, loneliness, and dare-he-say-it contentment, commingle under a stone crust of neutrality. A veritable delicacy.

Stiles doesn't think it's a very good poker face, since even (only) he can see through it. Strangely enough, Derek only shows it to him. It happens in the middle of his long-winded rants, when they're surrounded by the comfortable leather and warm summer air, when Stiles grabs his arm and forgets to let go. Even now, while they're on another stake out, and officially supposed to be focused on their target, their respective facades lapse (again), and really, Stiles doesn't mind.


End file.
